


Vices

by JoyBooth



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-04 19:07:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15153689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoyBooth/pseuds/JoyBooth
Summary: What to do when you can't be with the one you want, and what to do when you can.





	Vices

It wasn’t that he need the drink, it was that he craved the taste. It had been so long since he had gotten it from the source. Everything else wasn’t quite right. It was always missing something, but it was still better than nothing at all. It was better than forgetting. So, he added whiskey to his morning coffee, put a little gin in his tea at lunch and finished every night with a glass of vodka. 

At first, no one noticed. 

No one was looking that closely. 

He completed his missions. He was the very picture of the most effective KGB agent in 50 years, except the mask slipped every now and then. The things that would have sent into a rage before, were now mere irritations. 

The man she had brought out, was not as easy to repress. She had made it easier. She had pushed him away in the end, but there were still the memories. Their time together haunted him. 

Echoes of her voice woke him at night. He could remember with perfect clarity every mark and scar she carried. The look on her face when she laughed was heaven. Her tear stained face as he walked away was hell. 

Why had he let her get so close? He had known their time was limited, but it wasn’t enough. Some deeply buried part of him had hoped. Now all hope was lost. 

So, he drank to remember. He drank to forget. He drank until he woke up a hotel room, covered in blood, with no idea how he had gotten there. 

None of the blood was his. He slowly remembered the mission. The woman with dark hair and laughing eyes. The look of horror as she noted the body of her dead husband at his feet. Why did she have to catch him? Why did she have to look at him without a word? She knew what was coming. Why not beg for her life? Was he so devoid of humanity that she thought it a waste of breath?

He walked past her without another look. He walked down the hall, past the bedrooms where her children slept. He walked into the street cold air whipping around him. 

She stood watching the man she had just broken, walk away. 

She had loved him. She still did, but he could never know. He wasn’t meant for her. He never had been. 

So, she started smoking. Just his brand. Just when the night was cold and her hand shook. Just when she needed to remember what he tasted like.   
If anyone noticed, they didn’t mention it. Not even when she started keeping a pack in her desk. 

She was still one of their best agents. She accomplished her missions with efficacy. She did all the paper work without complaint. 

The only difference now was that she worked alone. She was always alone. Napoleon was back in America. Illya was in Russia. She was in London, or Paris, or Tel Aviv, or Madrid. Never the same place for too long. 

She lit a cigarette and took a drag before flicking it toward the lab she had just doused in gas. The crunch of snow as some one approached was muffled by the crackle of the fire. 

“You should step back. You will get burned.”

She didn’t turn. To often had his voice echoed in her mind, reminding her to be carefully. She had been careful and look what it had gotten her. She took a step closer to the blaze.

“Upryamaya zhenshshina,” he sighed, plucking her from the snow. 

“Was kummert es dich?”

“I am here, am I not?”

“How?” she wondered aloud.

“I had a bad day, and I wanted to see you.”

“What if I don’t want to see you?”

“Then I will go.”

“What if I want you to stay?”

“Then I will stay?”

“For how long?”

“For now?”

“Why not forever?”

“You sent me away,” he answered searching her eyes for explanation. 

“You weren’t supposed to go!” she snapped back, pushing him away.

That took him by surprise. Was she telling the truth? Had she been testing him? When she pushed him away, was he supposed to resist? 

“I didn’t know,” he mumbled, rubbing his jaw. 

“What happened?”

“When?”

“Your bad day?”

“I thought I saw you.”

“But you didn’t?”

“No,”

“So, you tracked me down?”

“She looked at me in a way you never did.” 

“How?”

“She saw the Red Peril.”

“Oh,” she stepped back into him, her hand rubbing his cheek. “That is not you. That is who they made you.”

“You don’t know, you have not…”

“I have. I saw him in Berlin, Prague and Budapest, but I also saw you, Illya. You are not him. He is who you become to survive.”

“I have done awful things.” 

“But you didn’t like it. You did what you had to, to survive. I’ve seen men who take pleasure in the pain of others. You are not like them.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, just as I am sure that you didn’t kill that woman who looked like me.”

“I would have. I killed her husband.”

“Not because you wanted to.” Neither spoke for a moment. Both just soaking in the others presence. 

“What is this place?” he asked as the something in the burning rubble exploded.

“You don’t know?” she replied curiously.

“No, I came to find you.” He tapped the ring on her finger. Even after all this time she still put it on each morning. 

“It is a research facility. Chemical weapons.”

“Is the job done?”

She nodded. 

“Would you like a drink?” he asked, suddenly sounding a bit nervous.

“Sure, and then maybe we can wrestle, for old times sake.”

**Author's Note:**

> Not my best work, but it has been rattling around half finished on my computer.


End file.
